I grew up hating the mountains; but the Himalayas changed all that
In the summer of 2011, my then boyfriend suggested a trip to Shimla for our first holiday together as a couple. How did I react to this romantic gesture? I balked.
The mere mention of Shimla brought back memories of crowded market streets, nausea-inducing drives and greasy dhaba fare meal after meal. As a child, I suffered from severe car sickness and after numerous insufferable family trips to Mahabaleshwar, Mussoorie and Manali, I’d sworn off hill stations. And so, after a heated debate, I convinced him for Goa instead. We spent four days driving around in a canary yellow Wagon R, swimming in the open sea and discovering the state’s fantastic culinary scene. Even today, Goa is special for me and my boyfriend-turned-husband and we visit at least twice a year, if not more often. It helps me avoid the mountains. Give me sea, sand and a colourful cocktail and I am a happy camper. To me, it wasn’t a vacation if there wasn’t a beach. Little did I know that all this was about to change.
As a writer for Condé Nast Traveller, I’ve been to Rishikesh, Jammu & Kashmir and Bhutan in the last 15 months. The prospect of winding up and down mountain roads was daunting, but I was not going to give up on a chance to travel. And I am glad I didn’t, because things had changed.
First, I realised that the journeys I made in the ’90s were now considerably easier. The roads and vehicles are better, but my body was also responding positively. After years of trial and error, I have developed my own set of best practices: I eat light, don’t drink too much water and always keep a lemon at hand. But more than the journeys, it’s the destinations that surprised me. The Himalayas are a gift of nature to our country. People from across the world visit them in hordes each year and yet, I had completely dismissed their majestic beauty. Yes, swimming in the sea is liberating, but it is the serenity of the mountains that takes you within yourself. In Kashmir, I spent an early morning drinking chai in the middle of a pine forest—icy mountains in the distance and the Lidder river flowing below. In Rishikesh, I meditated in a cave temple on the banks of the Ganga while rafters rowed past. In Bhutan, I discovered an entire nation of people brimming with the tranquil content that comes with living in the middle of the Himalayas. With each trip, I have discovered more about myself, just from hours spent staring at the peaks.
Moreover, the last decade has seen a large number of luxury retreats popping up in the mountains. And I must admit, this has been a big factor in my swing for the mountains. Gourmet meals, cosy fireplaces and luxury tents do make life in the hills easier and far more pleasureable. I realised not every experience needs to centre around the market streets. To truly enjoy the mountains, one must walk through their forests, take in their sights and sounds before trekking up for speech-stopping views of the peaks.
I am still very much a beach bum, but the beauty of the mountains is no longer lost on me. They are beginning to make a place in my heart, silently but surely. So this year, when I gifted my husband a trip to Wildflower Hall, Shimla for his birthday, at least one of us wasn’t surprised.